


oh quiet down, I’ve had enough

by taywen



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: 5 Times, Asexual Character, Asexual Daud, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 10:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3566528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taywen/pseuds/taywen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times someone hits on an asexual Daud, and one time someone asks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh quiet down, I’ve had enough

**Author's Note:**

> fills [this](http://dishonored-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/446.html?thread=461246#cmt461246) prompt on the kink meme:
> 
> "Daud is aromantic and asexual and, while he doesn't look down upon people having interest in relationships or sex exactly, listening to, talking about or having to watch displays of said activities really annoys him. He's awfully bad at detecting whether someone is trying to flirt with him too. Affairs between his whalers are not welcome either. Although his explanation for this rule is that affairs or unhappy break-ups and such will compromise the objectivity of the people involved and this is accepted as valid enough.
> 
> But every now and then there are people who do try to flirt with him or have a serious crush. It's a hassle to find out what their strange behavior is about and even more so to give them a clear enough brush-off."
> 
> title from Imagine Dragon's "Trouble"

[ i. client ]

The client this time is a woman, a fact that surprises Daud. Not because women can’t hire assassins, or anything like that; but in Dunwall, in his experience, they tend not to. Men very much run things here, apart from the Empress, which is a strange difference from Serkonos. Not once in the few years that he’s spent on Gristol has a woman hired him.

But the price she’s offering is good, according to Daud’s contact, and he isn’t going to improve his reputation if he doesn’t take any jobs.

“You’re younger than I expected,” Lady Vale says, raking her eyes down, then back up, his form.

Daud shrugs and crosses his arms.

“Your fee seems a bit high,” the noblewoman continues, “for someone your age.”

This, Daud is used to. “The price is not up for negotiation.”

“I’m sure you have an array of services available,” Vale says, looking at him like she’s starving and he’s a meal. _She_ is not the predator in this equation, however, so though Daud notes it, he ignores it.

“Retrieving information or property is extra,” Daud says, though why she would require either of those things is beyond him. She wants him to kill the husband who married her for her father’s money; everything will be hers in any case.

Vale smiles, as if Daud is a particularly entertaining pet. He’s starting to become annoyed. “I was thinking of something a bit more personal,” she says lightly.

“ _Anything_ additional is extra,” Daud says, a bit impatiently.

“Handsome boy like you, I’m sure you’ve had your fun- but there is something to be said for _experience_.”

Daud stares at her for several disbelieving moments.

“No,” he says, “deal’s off,” and turns on his heel. He slips out of the manor with ease, ignoring the lady’s incensed cries.

“Her Ladyship’s been talking shit,” Daud’s contact says a couple of days later, when Daud checks in for any potential job offers. “What’d you do, skip out on a bit of cuddling after the deed?”

Daud can’t stop his disgusted grimace. “There was no ‘deed’.”

His contact looks at him incredulously, then throws back his head and laughs. “ _What_ ,” he says, once his braying laughter has died down. “How could you turn down a piece like that?”

Daud resists the urge to punch him, barely.

 

[ ii. whaler ]

He starts recruiting after the Outsider marks him, when he realizes that he can share these arcane abilities with others. Another freelancer only loosely-associated with one of Dunwall’s myriad gangs; a dishonorably discharged sailor; a pair of wrongly-convicted escapees. The list goes on, and Daud’s reputation grows, until he’s more or less a gang leader himself.

Aaren was one of the first, a man around Daud’s age who came to Dunwall searching for a new start. He’s skilled with a blade: Daud suspects he used to run with a gang in Whitecliff, though Aaren’s never mentioned it. Daud doesn’t care about his men’s pasts, so long as they don’t prove to be a problem now.

Aaren’s also more proficient with the Outsider’s powers. Daud has yet to figure out what – if anything – determines that aptitude. Physically weak recruits can use transversals and pull heavier objects farther than stronger ones; that Aaren happens to be strong physically and magically is something of a mystery.

Things are more informal in those days. Daud has more to do with the daily running of the gang, training new recruits and reviewing contract details. He never joins the men when they go to the Golden Cat, but it’s not so unusual. Aaren, for instance, never goes either. Most times, he brings a bottle of Old Dunwall to Daud’s room and they drink in peaceful silence. Daud enjoys it, though he’d never admit as much.

They’ve made their way through most of the bottle tonight; at some point, they moved to the bed, possibly because Aaren was complaining about the lack of seating. The chair at Daud’s desk is the only one. Daud’s slumped in the corner, his mind pleasantly buzzing, and he hears himself talking about _Serkonos_ of all things, of coming of age in the gang that had stolen him from his mother.

Aaren’s pale cheeks are flushed, his eyes intent on Daud as he tells the story. At least he seems as drunk as Daud, curled on his side midway down the bed, head pillowed on one hand.

“I ran with a gang of thieves in Whitecliff,” Aaren offers in the lull of silence that follows Daud’s admission. He sits up, pour himself another drink. Daud shakes his head when Aaren offers to do the same for him. “Was pretty good. Nothing like what you’ve built here, but. Pretty good.” He drains the glass in one smooth swallow, his throat bobbing.

Daud follows the pale column to the unbuttoned collar – a concession to their drunken state – and the end of the vicious scar visible there.

“What happened?” Daud asks, because he’s curious. He hates a mystery, and he doesn’t dislike Aaren’s company.

Aaren’s mouth thins, his gaze going somewhere far away as he leans against the wall. “Whitecliff is- different. Dunwall’s devout, sure, but it’s worse in Whitecliff. Even the lowlifes buy into that Abbey shit.” He exhales heavily, shaking his head. “We were stupid. I was stupid. I should’ve known better than to get involved with him, but. I did anyway. We were in the same gang, all but lived in each other’s pockets before; it just seemed inevitable. We got caught. The others gave me this.” He drags his collar down, exposing the rest of the scar. “I got off lucky; they killed him.”

“Shit,” Daud says, inadequate.

Aaren nods. “Yeah.”

Just like that, the comfortable atmosphere’s gone. Aaren sways forward, bracing a hand on Daud’s thigh; Daud tenses at the touch, but there’s nowhere to recoil, and then Aaren’s pressing their lips together, licking into Daud’s mouth.

Daud shoves him back. “ _No_ ,” he snarls, feeling, absurdly, betrayed.

The expression is mirrored on Aaren’s face, before he abruptly stands, not looking at Daud. “I’m sorry. I- I’ll go.”

Daud doesn’t stop him.

He lays out the anti-fraternization rules the next day, ignoring the confused looks from most of the men, and the more knowing ones from those who’ve been around a bit longer.

“Um, why now, sir?” a relatively new recruit asks. The young man cringes under Daud’s glare.

“It came to my attention that it was necessary. Relationships among yourselves will compromise your objectivity. Don’t let it happen,” Daud snaps.

One of his older subordinates looks far too amused; when he opens his mouth to speak, Daud snarls, “Dismissed.”

Aaren leaves the gang a few weeks later. Daud allows him a week’s head start before he orders some of the others to go after him.

 

[ iii. target ]

“I can… offer you things that- whoever hired you- couldn’t,” his latest target says, having moved past the typical tedious, disbelieving whining to desperate pleading. There’s fear in his eyes, of course, and he winces when a swipe of his tongue hurts the split lip Daud had put there only a few minutes earlier. This particular contract had become messier than Daud intended.

Honestly, Daud prefers to put them out of their misery before they can even begin the whining, but, grudgingly, he has to acknowledge that the man had somehow noticed his presence despite the supernatural influence of the Outsider’s abilities, and put up a decent fight; so perhaps he deserves to be heard before Daud ends it.

“I already know you can’t beat their price,” Daud says, because he’d broken into the safe while he was waiting for the man to arrive, and background research had revealed that the target’s influence lay in his political position, not actual wealth. He glares down at the kneeling man. “Try again.”

“I’m not offering something so common as coin,” the man says, daring to edge closer; there’s a brief flicker of pain, as the motion puts strain on his now-ruined leg, but he has no weapons on him and Daud knows he could take the injured man easily. There’s a strange note to his voice, one that Daud vaguely recognizes, though he’s never heard it in this context before.

Daud raises his eyebrows, though his grip on his blade doesn’t relax one bit. He can’t imagine that the man has anything to offer that can outweigh the amount of coin his employer has promised, but he’s been surprised before.

As a rule, though, he doesn’t like to be surprised.

Daud tenses when the man raises a hand, thoroughly bewildered when he braces it lightly on Daud’s hip.

“Usually I ask that weapons as blatant as that not become involved,” the man all but purrs, gaze flicking briefly to the blade, “though I will, of course, make an exception this time.”

Something clicks in Daud’s brain.

The tone of voice is not unlike the ones he’s heard whores at the Golden Cat employ on clients – not that Daud was ever there to indulge; the brothel simply happened to be a particularly useful place to assassinate marks, given what went on there. That he sometimes had to witness those acts was an inconvenience that he tried to avoid, but he couldn’t say that it wasn’t to his advantage.

In the time it takes for Daud to realize what, exactly, the target intends to do to pay him off, the man has his other hand at Daud’s belt, moving with surprising dexterity to pull it free.

The man grunts as Daud plants his boot into his chest, knocking him back. He gasps for breath for a few seconds, scrambling away, the fear coming back to the fore again.

“Wait-”

“Shut up,” Daud says, annoyed. He ignores the man’s desperate babbling, and reappears behind him.

A shout erupts from the man – futile; Daud knows the house is deserted – as Daud wrenches his head back; it swiftly dissolves into a gurgle as Daud draws his blade across the target’s throat. He shoves the limp body away, stepping away from the spread of blood, and goes over to the window.

His apprentice, Billie Lurk, straightens up from her crouch when he appears beside her on the rooftop opposite the man’s house.

“Men don’t turn your fancy, then?” she asks, the question seemingly innocent but for the smirk he knows lurks at the corner of her mouth. She’s too curious for her own good, but she’s already learning how to temper it and, Daud has to admit, she’s one of the most talented recruits – if not _the_ most talented recruit – he’s ever had for his little band of assassins.

“No,” he says, curtly. “We’re going.”

Lurk falls in behind him without further questions, following him back to their base with ease. Few of the master assassins are as proficient with transversals as Lurk, which is fortunate for her as he would have done nothing to moderate his pace to accommodate a less-skilled assassin.

 

[ iv. client redux ]

Whenever someone hits on him, they tend to be a woman. Possibly it happens more often with men than he realizes, if Billie’s amused remarks mean anything. Daud ignores them for the sake of his sanity.

Whether it’s because he’s more appealing to women or merely the fact that relations between men and women aren’t forbidden by the Abbey, it is what it is. (Really, they’re already hiring an Outsider-marked murderer, a bit of same sex interaction could hardly be worse in the Abbey’s eyes. Not that Daud’s complaining.)

All the same, his latest would-be lover (and current client) follows the same pattern.

Daud’s actually aware of the client’s over the top flirting, for once. It could be because her “flirting” is more like proposition after blatant proposition, really. Though outwardly he imagines an observer wouldn’t be able to tell, he can see that Billie’s shoulders shaking minutely, probably with barely repressed mirth.

He’ll leave her at the base, next time, and bring someone who can overlook these unfortunate occurrences instead. Rulfio is sensible, and old enough that he won’t be titillated by Daud’s misfortune. Hopefully.

“Serkonos is known for its merchants,” the woman says, leaning forward far enough that Daud’s honestly surprised her ample bosom hasn’t fallen out of her dress yet.

“I’m not a merchant,” Daud says, resisting the urge to step away.

“You’re a merchant of death.” She makes it sound like the most attractive designation in the world.

A shaky, muffled sound – a laugh disguised as a cough, surely – escapes Billie. He shoots her a glare. “I ask for half of the payment up front, before I take the contract, and the rest after the mission is completed,” he tells the noblewoman through gritted teeth.

If she hears him, she makes no sign of it. “Serkonos is also known for its- lovers,” the woman says, paraphrasing slightly, which- is surprisingly tactful, considering how spectacularly unsubtle she's been throughout. Daud might have snapped if she’d called him a whore.

As it is, he’s fed up. “I really wouldn’t know. And if you don’t shut up, I’ll double the price,” he snaps.

“So, you’re a faggot,” the woman says, straightening as her face settles into lines of disgust. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You have _that_ mark-”

Billie sleep darts her before she can say more, and she grabs Daud’s arm when he makes to stalk over. She’s not amused anymore, which is something, at least.

“Let it go. I’ll get the boys to deal with this,” she says.

Daud jerks out of her grasp. “Fine.”

 

[ +i. whaler redux ]

“So,” Billie says, leaning casually against his desk. She’s foregone the mask today, an indulgence that Daud allows because she is, after all, his Second now. The new crimson jacket says as much. “You don’t like women or men?”

Daud blinks up at her, his mind still halfway occupied with looking over a new contract. Then he blinks again, because no one has ever _asked_. They just assume. But it would be Billie who asks; she’s good at ferreting out information.

“That’s right,” he says, leaning back.

“You don’t like the intimacy, or the fucking?”

“Both,” he says; there’s no reason to lie about it.

Something crosses her face then, gone too quickly for him to decipher. He’s good at reading her body language, less so at reading her expressions; she usually wears the mask.

Irrationally, Daud feels like he should look away. He resists the urge.

“That mean you’ve never-?” Billie smirks as she makes a lewd gesture, her serious mood lifting.

Daud rolls his eyes, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “That’s none of your concern.”

“So you haven’t.”

“Billie,” he snaps, but the words hold less bite than they would if anyone else had asked.

Billie raises her hands in mock surrender, then adds, impudent, “Just saying.”

“Outsider’s eyes,” Daud mutters. “I have, a few times. It was nothing life changing, and I regretted it afterward. And if I hear any of the men talking about this-”

“-they won’t have heard it from me,” Billie says smoothly. She glances at the clock and makes a show of straightening up. “Shit, I need to meet with Thomas.” She’s gone before Daud can reply.

He sits at the desk without moving for a long time before he picks up the contract again.

 

[ v. witch ]

The thing about the nobility is, they only follow the Abbey’s teachings as much as they have to. They’ll mouth along to the Strictures in public, and tend hidden shrines as soon as the Overseers turn their backs. Daud’s found more runes bone charms sneaking around noble estates than anywhere else.

The downside is, sometimes they find a heretic with actual knowledge, and set up magical protections that Daud can’t break into so easily, which is what brings down to the dilapidated Brigmore Manor. The mud sucks at his boots, not unlike the riverbank of Rudshore. It stinks, not unlike Rudshore – but the rot here is more organic, and somehow fouler.

“You’d think all the flowers would make it smell nicer,” Billie comments, as they transverse to the gate.

Their contact’s waiting to meet them, a woman about Daud’s age clad in pale greens and yellows. “Oh,” she says, meeting them before the fence. “I didn’t think the Knife of Dunwall himself would come.”

Daud shrugs. “I want this done properly.”

“Personnel issues?” the witch asks, smiling. “The coven is quite skilled. If you have need of our services…”

“I need a charm that allows me to slip past this.” Daud pulls out the copy of the arcane sigil protecting the nobleman’s estate.

Her coy expression fades as she studies the diagram. “Interesting…” She looks up again, with another smile. “How soon?”

“As soon as possible.”

The witch makes a thoughtful noise. “We don’t usually lend out our services in this regard,” she says.

“Name your price,” Daud says, trying to curb his impatience.

“We could negotiate inside,” the witch suggests. “It’s more comfortable.”

Daud’s gaze flicks to the barred gate, and the sagging manor house beyond. “I’m in a hurry.”

“A pity. Perhaps we can meet up once your business is finished.”

Daud shrugs. “How much.”

“One thousand coin.”

“Five hundred.”

“Seven-fifty.”

“Fine,” Daud says, and shakes her hand. It seems to linger for a bit too long, and Daud pulls back first, crossing his arms.

“Well,” the witch murmurs, “I’ll have the charm carved, and maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Likely,” Daud agrees, absently. While making use of arcane rituals is usually more trouble than it’s worth, it sometimes is the most expedient method. These witches seem to know what they’re doing, and they’re not like the fanatical Outsider worshippers that Daud’s had to deal with before.

He departs, Billie at his heels, and thinks nothing more of it.

Until Billie sidles up to him on the journey back to Dunwall, somehow managing to give the impression of a smirk despite the mask covering her face.

“She was coming on to you,” she tells him, any amusement distorted by the mask.

“What? No, she just wanted more coin-” Daud cuts himself off, annoyed at himself for rising to the bait, and for not noticing earlier, though in hindsight it seems obvious.

Billie snorts. “Typical Daud,” she says, turning to look out over the river.

“Maybe I should pick up witchcraft for myself,” Daud says.

That earns him another snort; Billie shakes her head, but doesn’t say anything more when Daud braces his forearms on the railing beside her.

They watch the countryside pass in silence.

“Do you suppose there are many people bearing the mark?” she asks a while later, her tone serious now.

“Not many,” Daud says, but he wonders all the same. There’s the old witch who haunts the poorer districts and the sewers and Daud himself that he knows off the top of his head. He suspects there’s another; recently, he’s found shrines plundered. Perhaps it says something about Dunwall that so many of the Outsider’s chosen congregate there; or perhaps they are not such an exclusive number as Daud thinks.

“I’d like to meet him someday,” Billie says.

 _No, you wouldn’t_ , Daud doesn’t say, even if he believes it. He knows that he wouldn’t turn down the mark even if he’d had the chance, even knowing what he knows now.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [no sleep tonight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3563957) by [taywen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taywen/pseuds/taywen)




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